


New Assignment

by Cobalt_Blue_Sphere



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobalt_Blue_Sphere/pseuds/Cobalt_Blue_Sphere
Summary: No sooner than things have settled, do they change. After being reassigned to Southport Garrison, Anton and Emily are caught in a storm of growing shadows.
Relationships: Female Worgen/Male Human(s) (Warcraft)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Happy Partings...

By his estimation, it had been at least a few weeks since the Draenor Expedition’s precarious landing in Shadowmoon Valley, and Anton had become well accustomed to a great many things about Lunarfall Garrison in that time.

The eternal night and resulting constant moonlight were strange, but made for an oddly soothing ambiance when out on duty. The strange animals and stranger people he’d seen could be construed as charming in their own way. Even the unshakable, uncomfortable feeling of knowing he was impossibly far from home – on an entirely different world, as it were – was something he could ignore when in good company.

The food, however, was something he’d never be able to get past.

Hard cheese made from elekk milk, oddly oily in texture. Assorted cuts of salted talbuk meat, which he’d discovered was much more lean and stringy than good old beef. Soft bread rolls called ‘Rylak Claws’ – those he admittedly couldn’t find any real fault in, but he still found them suspect due to their name alone. All together they made for the least appetizing rations he’d had in living memory. Every day he felt his disdain for them grow a little stronger.

Still, he knew it was all he’d get, so he simply ate it anyway. He just had to remind himself that his situation could be worse. Could be that he had nothing at all to eat, for example – even the unsettling, foreign flavours of the Draenor food he was served would be preferable to that.

Sitting next to him at the mess table, Emily seemed to have no such reservations. Before and after each shift, every morning and night, they would sit down at the table together – just far enough apart that no-one might question – and every morning and night, she would plow through her meal at a pace he just couldn’t bring himself to match. She had managed to negotiate with the cooks for larger portions, which made sense given her great stature – and even so she would still have her meal squarely put away before he had managed to down half of his. He could only assume her voracious appetite was something that came with the worgen curse; it was really something to marvel at that she could wolf down a plate of this barely palatable food and still want for more.

“Look, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” Emily offered, her voice bringing him out of his musings. He looked over to see her wiping her mouth with one furry hand and reaching out towards him with the other.

“Like hell. Hands off.” He growled, pulling his plate in closer away from her. It was still the only meal he was going to get.

“Oh, well, can’t be that bad if you still want it.” She laughed as she withdrew, turning her attention to picking between her fangs. Her plate was already empty but for the bones and the crumbs.

“No, it’s not that bad. That’s not the problem,” Anton groused as he picked up another piece of hard cheese and struggled with deciding whether or not he actually wanted to eat it. “Problem is it’s not really very good, either.”

Emily shrugged unconcernedly. “Well, you just have to remember; It’s better –”

“ – Better than nothing. Yeah, yeah, I know.” He finished for her, reluctantly resuming his repast. “I still just keep hoping they might bring us some actual food some time instead of all this draenei stuff. They had a portal back home open for a little while, I remember, surely someone brought some food through.”

“Well, if they did, it wasn’t meant for us.” She shrugged.

Anton kept grumbling under his breath as he ate, wishing again that he was back in Stormwind where things were normal. He knew that he should be grateful and count his blessings – he was lucky just to be alive, and luckier again to have Emily to hang onto. It was just a lot easier to find something to complain about.

He spared a glance out at the rest of the mess hall. It was furnished spartanly at best, little more than tables and benches, but that was enough for it to serve. The sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery pervaded the room as the other soldiers just getting off their shift took their mealtime. Although the ever-present moon fooled the senses into believing it was always midnight, the gnomish clock upon the wall let the truth of matters be known. It was in fact early evening, not half an hour after the changing of the guard.

He had found himself missing the sound and clamour that always accompanied mealtimes in the Old Town Barracks, and as the chaos of the expedition’s landing died down the familiar routine largely took its rightful place. If not for the comparative sparseness of the mess, sometimes he might have thought he was back home.

The return to order had been something he’d welcomed gladly. Since the furor of the first week, he had only had one reassignment; a simple change of shift from evening to morning. Thankfully, the thought of putting Emily and him on different shifts hadn’t seemed to cross Montoy’s mind when he was making the change, and so Anton had still been able to pass each shift chatting the time away with her. Despite her occasional silent spells, she was still by far the most pleasant partner he’d had on shift.

“You know, I’m just glad Montoy’s got us on an actual schedule now. I’m pretty sure we were getting re-assigned every shift back when we first landed here.” He said offhandedly between bites.

“Yeah, we were. We were at like four shifts in a row at one point,” She nodded. “We’re getting to be about due for some excitement, I reckon. It’s been pretty calm for a while.”

“Oh, don’t jinx it.” He shuddered. “We’ve got a good thing going here, you know. Hardly anyone comes by the north gate except the miners. Long as Montoy doesn’t shift us off again, we might just ride this whole thing out without a scratch on us.”

“Yeah, maybe. What do you reckon the odds of that are, though?” She said pointedly.

Anton gave it a moment’s consideration. “Honestly? Probably pretty good as long as we keep our heads down. We just do our job, do our paperwork, try and avoid any more crazy shit, and we should be fine.”

“With our track record so far, the crazy shit will probably find us no matter where we hide out.” She laughed throatily.

“Nah, it’ll be fine if we can just stay at our north gate post. Like I said, nothing ever happens there. If that asswipe Montoy just doesn’t reassign us anywhere, we’ll be just fine.” He said confidently.

A woman’s somber voice spoke up before Emily could respond, drawing both their attention. “Good evening, Emily and Anton. May we sit here?”

He looked up to see two familiar purple-haired night elves standing next to them, bearing laden plates and expectant looks. He knew them well by now; the Starhelm twins were regular acquaintances at this point. They were on the south gate morning shift, so they got off at the same time he and Emily did and frequently joined them in the mess.

“Evening, Kalandra. You know you don’t need to ask, just go for it.” He answered. He still found the formality they seemed to insist on amusing.

“I prefer to be polite. It may be that you don’t wish for company, after all.” The elf answered softly as she laid her plate on the bench and sat down.

“Indeed, indeed, it wouldn’t do to get between a couple seeking time to themselves.” Her brother sat himself down next to her, cracking wise with a cheeky grin.

Anton rounded on him immediately. “Will you stop doing that? We told you, we don’t want anyone else to know.” He hissed.

“Of course, my apologies,” The elf snickered, still grinning like a madman. “I just hope you two are being respo –”

“Desarune, stop it.” Kalandra chided him. “They want their privacy, let them be.”

“Oh, alright...”

Anton heard Emily growling under her breath next to him. He had to admit, he himself was starting to find this part of the routine frustrating. In the wake of Anton and Emily’s first midnight tryst at the fishing pools, Anton’s suspicion that the two elves knew about their relationship had quickly become certainty when Desarune had started to rib them about it every time he laid eyes on them – and as the two elves had become more frequent company, Desarune’s jokes became more of a frequent annoyance.

Kalandra had always looked on in disapproval but had not spoken against it, and so Anton had been forced to speak to them about it before they blabbed anything out in front of an audience. With Emily in tow to provide an air of intimidation, he’d sworn them to silence, but Desarune still insisted on poking fun with all the subtlety of a rock through a window. He could have abided it if not for the possibility of anyone else overhearing, especially with how easily certain company in the Alliance could eavesdrop – the long-eared elves chief among them.

“Can you do me a favor and just stop bringing it up every time we see you?” Anton said irritably. “Especially where anyone can hear you.”

“I only mean to have a little fun,” Desarune replied defensively. “I don’t mean anything by it.”

“No, I know, but it’s still getting annoying. Every time, as soon as you sit down, you’re at it again.”

“Alright, alright. My apologies,” The elf gave a reluctant sigh. “I was only making a joke.”

“We really are happy for you. It is no small matter to find love.” Kalandra assuaged them in her soft voice. “And no laughing matter, either, Desarune. Let them be, we promised we’d keep their secret.”

“I know. I only meant to joke.” Desarune insisted.

With the annoying elf sufficiently chastised, Anton returned his attention to finishing his meal, while Emily simply sat and twirled her clawed thumbs idly, apparently completely content to let it go.

Besides being the butt of barracks jokes or the target of gossip, there was one deathly important reason Anton didn’t want the true nature of his and Emily’s relationship to become public knowledge: he didn’t want to run the risk of being separated from her. It wasn’t unheard of for men and women back in the Stormwind Guard to play nookie on occasion, but it definitely wasn’t abided. There was a certain image of professionalism that had to be maintained, after all.

He had no reason to believe the Army was any different; if anyone found out and decided to blab to the captain, Montoy would definitely have them split up, if he didn’t discharge them entirely. And Light help them both if the zealous Anchorite Atoh found out. She wouldn’t just see them discharged – more likely she’d discharge their ribcages out from the rest of their bodies.

The secrecy hadn’t put a strain on either of them yet – both of them well understood the situation they were in and the accommodations they had to make. Even a simple hug or a peck on the cheek was out of the question at most times, as there was always the risk that anyone could happen to look over and see them, and from there it was just a few words to the captain and they were toast. Bar for their infrequent excursions outside the walls, they had to keep themselves restrained.

Nonetheless, It made Anton wonder if their relationship was one that might be considered ‘troubled’ back home. There definitely wasn’t much in the way of prim and proper romance about it, and there was no way they could really do anything about it.

Sometimes the thought crept up on him that it might not be able to last. Occasionally he would lay awake in his bunk, plagued by the troubling possibility that they had moved too fast into something they now had to take too slow. An active Alliance garrison was not a conducive place for a relationship like theirs to grow.

Giving up on her was the farthest thing from his mind, however. He knew that he’d never find anyone like her again if he did. She’d presented herself as a cold, stoic soldier at first, and she’d scared him more than once with showings of the worgen curse’s animalistic bloodlust. Between both those things, however, was someone all but irreplaceable – tough and fierce, yet still patient, gentle and caring. She’d helped him bear the pressure of the last few weeks more than perhaps even she realized. He hoped that he’d done the same for her.

It felt to him like they complemented each other perfectly, on duty as much as off. He was willing to be patient for the sake of someone like her.

And really, even though he was still getting used to it, he couldn’t honestly say that her wiry, wolfish form was all that bad. Easier on the eyes than some women he’d seen.

Across from them, Kalandra drew him out of his thoughts as she cleared her throat. “I had almost forgotten to say. We met with Captain Montoy earlier; he bade us inform you that he was looking for you both.”

Although she had said it as casually as anything else, the news brought a feeling of sudden doom descending on Anton like a weight bearing down on his shoulders. He knew innately that any news from the captain would not be anything he wanted to hear – it could only be either some reprimand so severe that it had to be delivered in person, or some dangerous errand on par with the trading caravan debacle that he was going to ‘volunteer’ them for.

Or worse yet – a new assignment.

No matter what kind of nightmare Montoy had cooked up for them, though, at the root of the issue there was only one possible reason this could be happening. He fixed Emily with the most accusatory glare he could possibly manage – given that she was a head taller than him it probably wasn’t deeply intimidating, but he had to try – and let fly the most overwhelmingly judgmental condemnation he could muster.

“This is your fault.”

“Excuse me?” She asked, affecting a bemused look.

“You jinxed it. You said there was something shit about to happen, and then immediately Montoy goes ahead and screws us over.” He explained. “This is all your fault.”

She laughed dismissively, brushing his outrage off like water off her fur. “You don’t even know what he wants us for yet, you tosspot.”

“It’s nothing good, I can guarantee you that. It never is with him, haven’t you noticed?”

“Kalandra, did he say what he wanted?” Emily steadily ignored his grumbling.

The elf looked a little uncertain about the bickering before her. “Ah – No. However, I am presuming that he has new orders for you. Desarune and myself were -”

“New orders. I knew it, see? I told you. Nothing good.” Anton scoffed as Emily rolled her eyes. He pushed his plate away from him and stood up with a long-winded sigh. “Alright then, come on. We might as well go see what the damage is.”

“What, aren’t you going to finish that anymore?” Emily gestured towards his plate.

“Not hungry.” True enough, his appetite had almost completely left him the moment he’d heard the bad news. The only thing he wanted was to get the rest of it over with, and then ideally go and sleep or drink so he could pretend he hadn’t heard it. “Let’s just get it out of the way, come on. See you guys later.”

He gave a cursory wave to the elves as he left the table. It wasn’t until he was halfway out of the mess, however, that he realized Emily was lagging behind. He turned around to see her casually finishing off the last chunks of bread and cheese he’d left, and quirked his eyebrow as she finally pushed away from the bench and made to join him.

“You starving or something?” He asked as she drew near, still chewing busily.

She swallowed and shrugged. “Nah. Still a bit peckish, though. Could go for a bit more.”

He almost couldn’t believe that she could still have room. “You already ate like twice what I got. You’re going to get fat if you get any more.”

“Hey, ease up. I’m like twice as big as you, you bloody tiny twig.” She snickered.

“Twice as full of shit, you mean,” He countered with a look of mock dubiousness. “You’re like a head taller than me, tops. Tops.”

“I guess that’s enough to make the difference, shorty,” She said smugly, looking down at him with a playful grin.

“Hey, we agreed I’m not short. Lanky, smug piece of shit.” He sniped.

“Yeah, nah, you’re definitely short. Tiny little midget.” She shot back.

They kept trading insults as they climbed the stairs up to the second floor of the barracks. Anton found himself smiling, glad that he had someone to banter with who wouldn’t take it personal. Idle chatter was the easiest way to keep oneself distracted, in his experience. Outside of getting drunk, anyway, which was sadly not an option for him.

For the most part, Anton had found Emily pretty hard to offend in general. Sure she’d snapped and growled on occasion, when he said something to prickle her pride, but it would never get serious as long as he himself didn’t make it too serious. He could appreciate that – He’d met people who’d hold ridiculous grudges over the simplest slight, but she was always happy to let it go.

As they reached Montoy’s office door they had to put the distraction to rest, however, and as soon as they did the dread of the impending meeting came right back. Anton hesitated momentarily before knocking. He was the one who’d suggested they just get it over with, but still he would have preferred to just turn around and leave it – if only that was an option.

Emily seemed to notice his consternation, and gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. He forced a smile up onto his face, and rapped on the door.

“Come in.” Montoy’s brusque voice answered promptly.

Anton pushed the door open, giving a rote salute as he crossed the threshold. “Sir. We were told you were looking for us.”

The captain was sitting behind a varnished desk, quill in hand, busily writing something or other on one of many documents he had strewn around him. Inwardly Anton marvelled at the sheer volume of paperwork; they had been on Draenor only a few weeks and had only periodic contact with Stormwind, but still Montoy had somehow cobbled together enough papers to make his office look like something straight out of the City Registry.

The mundane, domestic sight of the office confused Anton for a moment. Of course it made sense that it was there, but it really did look like something he’d see back home. It made him wonder where everything had come from – the desk in particular. It must have been made in the garrison somewhere; after all, who the hell would set up a portal to another world and then just drag a desk through it?

The mental image brought a small smirk to his face, right up until Montoy decided to take his eyes off his paperwork and look up at them. Before he even opened his mouth, Anton knew there was bad news coming.

“Ah, Miller – Yes, I was. And Brown as well, excellent.” The captain brusquely reached into his desk and retrieved a sheaf of papers, speaking as he rifled through them. “I have new orders for the pair of you.”

“Of course.” Anton’s heart sunk in his chest. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of.

“Were you aware of the secondary foothold being established along the southern coast?” Montoy continued without taking his eyes off his task. “Admiral Taylor is constructing a garrison in the Spires of Arak. Reports thus far have indicated steady progress, except for earlier today – we received a request from one Arcanist Ephial – on behalf of Admiral Taylor – for reinforcements, in light of increased activity from the Shattered Hand orcs. Despite a few... slip-ups during our arrival, you’ve both proven to be fine soldiers. I decided you would fit in perfectly with the group we’re sending.”

Montoy finally finished searching the papers, extending his hand to pass two of them along. Emily took them both, passing Anton’s along to him silently. The paper felt as though it was as heavy as lead in his grasp.

“Has there been much fighting there yet, sir?” Anton gulped.

“A few scuffles from what Ephial indicated, but it’s only a matter of time until something bigger if Taylor is concerned enough to request reinforcements. His judgment is always accurate.” Montoy answered grimly. “You’ll be woken at usual hours. Report to the north gate instead of your usual post – Commander Dawson is arranging a portal to send you straight there. Everything else you need to know is in your orders. Dismissed.”

Montoy returned to his work without another word, leaving them both to file out of the room of their own accord. Anton shut the door behind him, finally beginning to register the news as he looked down at the document in his hand. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to read them.

“Well, I suppose you were right,” Emily admitted, a kind of resigned humour in her voice. He looked up to see her pensively gazing down at her own papers. “Guess I did jinx it after all.”

* * *

* * *

Near the centre of the garrison, a small cobbled terrace with a few public tables had been set up around an ornate fountain. In the soft moonlight it made for a scenic place to take a break, a quiet reprieve that visitors to the garrison would undoubtedly find pleasant. Anton, however, was scarcely in a mood to appreciate it as he and Emily sat together at one of the tables, new orders in their hands. He was still reeling from the news that he would soon once again have to leave the safety Lunarfall Garrison provided.

Arak, the aptly-named home of the arakkoa. Anton knew very little about them, except for the fact that they were some kind of bird-men, and that Anchorite Atoh had once mentioned she held a low opinion of them. His orders made no mention of them, so that most likely meant the higher-ups didn’t consider them a threat – or possibly didn’t know anything about them. He could only hope it was the former, but he had little faith in that. Given how hospitable Draenor had been thus far, ‘not a threat’ was a descriptor he was hesitant to use.

“Hm. Same time our shift is supposed to start,” Emily muttered across from him, dragging him away from his thoughts as she read from her paper. Anton noticed she was holding it quite gingerly in her claws. “At least we won’t have to get up early, I suppose...”

“Yeah, great,” He responded flatly. “I would rather have just stayed here, though, really.”

“Same here,” Emily said with a resigned sigh. “I was actually starting to like the place. I guess there’s not much we can do about it now, though.”

“As always.” Anton grumbled. “I knew they’d find some way to screw us. Should have known Montoy would find a way.”

“Well, look on the bright side. At least we’re both going there together.” She consoled him with a smile that looked surprisingly gentle on her normally intimidating muzzle.

Anton just shook his head dispiritedly. He could appreciate that she was making an attempt to keep his spirits up, but not to the extent that he could actually let it work on him. His hopes of riding out the Draenor Expedition in a safe, quiet corner of Lunarfall Garrison were dead in the water, murdered in cold blood by the orders in his hand, aided and abetted by the nefarious Captain Montoy.

They had their arms twisted against their backs. With the word from the captain given, they had no other option – and the more Anton thought about it, the more true he realized it was. Even if he could stomach the thought of desertion – or bring it up to Emily, whom he knew would clip him upside the head and be right to do so - where in hell were they supposed to desert to exactly? There was no way back to Azeroth that schmucks like him or Emily could access, and nowhere for them to seek refuge. The draenei, having now established solid ties with the Alliance, would probably turn them over as like as not, and roughing it in the unknown wilderness of Draenor was simply not an option.

The silver lining of the situation was that Emily was being thrown in along with him. Her, he knew he could count on; she’d proven herself time and again as absolutely dependable. She was as tough as nails in a fight – that would likely be the most important in the days to come, with his luck – but even besides that, she was a faithful friend, and... more, obviously.

He relished the times that they could catch a moment to spend some time together alone. The rush they chased together and the release they shared were a tremendous relief, which thus far had kept the worst of the weight off his shoulders. He cherished seeing her open up completely, expressive with him in a way she wasn’t with anyone else. In its own way it almost felt like something that, just on its own, vindicated all the shit they’d been through.

Maybe they could sneak out and have one more night together before they were shipped off to whatever fresh hell awaited them. It probably wasn’t really a good idea - it would be wiser for him and Emily both to get a good night’s sleep and be ready for the tribulations of tomorrow – but it was too tempting a notion to give up. If nothing else it would be good stress relief.

“Hey, Emily, what do you think of – Ow!” Before he could even properly bring the idea up, he was cut off by a sharp kick across his shin from under the table. To his perplexion, Emily fixed him with a warning look and a slight shake of her head, before abruptly returning to a neutral expression and casually looking away. “What was that...?”

For a moment he was only confused, but as the hair on the back of his neck started to prickle a sense of alarm started to come over him. Someone was standing right behind his chair.

Slowly, warily, he turned himself around in his seat. When he found himself face to dour face with none other than Anchorite Atoh, he simultaneously felt his gut falling down into his knees and his heart leaping up into his chest. Somehow it was as though she’d caught wind of the less-than-pure thoughts swirling in his head and moved to intercept before he could so much as give voice to them.

She had never quite warmed back up to them after the trip they’d undertaken to Embaari Village. Every so often she’d rock up in the barracks, or pass them while they were on shift, glaring menacingly at them the whole while. Anton was quite certain she was finding excuses to keep an eye on them and make sure that they were staying pure and chaste and whatever else that mad old bint expected out of them. He had a feeling she’d probably explode from sheer anger if she ever learned the kind of things they’d been up to.

He actually might enjoy seeing that – but only from a nice, safe distance. Unfortunately, the way she was looming imposingly over him at that exact moment prevented that amusing mental image from mustering up a smile.

“I suppose I am interrupting something, if that look on your face is an indication.” She said severely, her arms crossed as she cast her judgmental gaze down upon the pair of them. “What are you both doing here that you wished me not to know about?”

Anton’s wits came back to him all at once, and before he could compose himself he found a snide reply falling from his lips. “Well, we were actually just casually minding our own business. If that’s alright with you...”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Anton Miller.” She narrowed her eyes dangerously, her voice full of fire. “What business do you two have to mind that you must sit at the same table, together?”

“Fine - If you have to know, we were just discussing these new orders we got,” He said defiantly. He found himself surprisingly unafraid; he credited it to the fact that they were out in public, with any number of witnesses to deter her from doing anything rash. Hopefully. “We’re both being shipped off to the Spires of Arak, apparently, if you’ll believe that.”

“Hmph. Show me proof and I may.”

Wordlessly Anton handed his papers over, taking some vindictive pleasure in watching her brows furrow as she slowly made her way through it. Gradually her expression started to soften, doubt creeping over her face as she realized she’d made a mistake.

“That convince you?” Anton asked querulously. Atoh handed his orders back as if on prompt, now looking somewhere between contrite and frustrated. It was plain to see that she’d hoped for something she could hold against him instead.

“... Yes. I owe you an apology, it seems,” She gave a begrudging reply at last. “I did not know that your Alliance had a presence in Arak at all.”

“Neither did we, before today,” Emily chimed in. “Do you know much about the place?”

“Only very little... I said once before, as I remember, the arakkoa are very secretive. They will not speak with us – not a one of our emissaries have returned. Nor even our scouts, for that matter. They are dangerous, and cruel. Scum.” She just about spat the last word. Her ire was such that Anton could practically feel it radiating onto him as she spoke. “Whomever commands in Arak should be made well aware of the threat they pose. They are not to be underestimated.”

“Great. So we’re dead for sure then. Good to know.” Anton said, not even bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Emily grunted her disagreement. “Maybe not. They didn’t say anything about any arakkoa attacking them, did they? They said it was orcs. We’ve dealt with them before.”

Atoh shook her head. “I believe you would not have had word from them if the arakkoa had attacked. They are nothing less than thoroughly merciless. No... It is more likely they have not noticed your people’s presence there, and for that you are quite fortunate. As long as it remains so, you will be all fine.”

“And if they do notice us?” Anton looked up to meet her gaze as he asked. “What happens then?”

He had expected a zealous exhortation to visit brutal, wrathful vengeance upon them or something similar, but to his surprise her expression bore very little in the way of bloodlust. Instead she actually looked somewhat pensive, as though she was debating whether or not to actually say what was on her mind – but this did not do much for his flagging confidence.

“... I will pray to the Light that they do not. You both should do the same.” She said slowly. A sudden note of genuine compassion had crept into her voice, something he could swear he hadn’t heard since the day of the expedition’s landing, when he’d first met her in the healer’s tent. “I have no advice but to be brave. Remember that you are not alone. Arak may be dangerous, but without considering the arakkoa, you will not find anything you cannot manage. Of that I’m certain.”

She clapped him on the shoulder gently. Anton was somewhat caught off guard at her genuine words. He hadn’t expected her to do anything but make their lives harder when she appeared.

“Thanks, I think. That’s kind of heartening, actually.” He exhaled. “So just do our jobs and hope we don’t get killed by bird guys out of nowhere. I suppose I can manage that.”

“You will be fine, as long as you have faith.” In contrast with her kind words, her eyes abruptly turned hard and her voice stern. Anton suddenly found himself having to bite back a curse as she dug her fingers into his shoulder. “I will only say that I had best not hear of any... untoward behaviour upon your return. I will not be pleased if you two have been... anything less than professional with each other.”

She let him go again and turned to walk away, her hooves clicking against the cobbled stone as she left. Apparently that was passable as a farewell for her.

“Are you ever going to let that go?” He yelled after her, frustrated. Once again she’d made herself seem almost personable before abruptly changing tack completely.

“No.” She answered simply without even turning around to look at him.

Emily drew his attention back to the table as she gave an amiable laugh. It seemed that she wasn’t too put out by it, at least. “Have to give her credit for sticking to her guns.”

Anton scoffed irritably. “Yeah, maybe if she was consistent about it. For a moment there I almost thought she was nice again... I’ll tell you what, I’ll be glad to be shot of her when we get transferred out, if nothing else.”

“Hey, there you go,” Emily chuckled. “You’re finally learning to look on the bright side.”


	2. ... and Frustrating Meetings

Anton would be the first to admit that he was no expert in portal magic, nor even really an amateur in it. In fact, if he was being completely honest, he didn’t actually know the first thing about any kind of magic. It was the kind of thing that needed years of learning and practice, that demanded wholehearted dedication to the craft, and therefore was he aware that he had little more than a layman’s perspective on it. Nonetheless, as he stood awkwardly in the woods outside the garrison and watched Commander Dawson wave her hands around and mumble unintelligible incantations, he couldn’t help but feel underwhelmed.

The dozen-odd Alliance soldiers to be sent as reinforcements to Arak had turned into more of a loose gaggle of awkward spectators, all craning their necks to try and divine some meaning from the Commander’s act as they restlessly waited. What little discipline Anton had brought with him to the portal site was fading fast, leaving him with mounting difficulties in maintaining his decorum.

“I would have thought there’d be a bit more glamour involved in this,” He grumbled under his breath to Emily. “Why is she just doing this out in the dirt in the middle of the forest, exactly? Is that something that’s allowed? I would have thought there’d be like a special room or something.”

She gave a small shrug in response. “I don’t know anything about this kind of stuff, really.”

“Me neither. Just seems weird. I mean, a portal that will cut out whole weeks or whatever’s worth of travel, and she’s just putting it in the dirt here.”

“From what little I have heard, a greater magician can do more with less.” Kalandra chimed in softly from his other side. She had a somewhat disapproving look on her face, but spoke to him as respectfully as ever. “The fact that she can work with no reagents and no set location is a sign of talent.”

“So she’s trying to brag?” Anton asked.

“Maybe she’s just doing it here because she can.” Emily offered with a small laugh. “I mean, the weather’s nice. Why not here, right?”

“Hmph. A privilege afforded to her by skill.” Kalandra observed sourly. “Impressive it may be, but it still doesn’t sit right with me. Magery is a dangerous practice, and I hear of more and more men and women in Darnassus taking up with it by the day.”

Anton gave a non-commital grunt. “Can’t be that bad. There’s a whole Mage Tower in Stormwind, you know. They’ve never caused any trouble that I’ve heard of.”

“Be that as it may, it does not sit right with me at all,” She repeated insistently. “The Sundering was brought on by powerful mages, out of control – but even back then, they started with only a few elves. A few, like what we have now... And more by the day.”

“You weren’t around to see that, Kalandra.” Desarune pointed out. “You’re not much older than me.”

To Anton’s surprise, the usually soft-spoken elf scowled at her brother in response. “That does not mean it did not happen. All kinds of disaster become possible when one takes up with the arcane. It’s quite possible that we are heading -”

The portal’s sudden opening interrupted her, drawing their attention with an ethereal noise and a rush of light and air against them. It resembled a bright, hovering mirror with edges of vibrant blue energy, bearing a flickering image of the other side it was connected to. The shimmering, shifting surface was difficult for Anton to focus his eyes on, but he thought he could make out grey stone walls and a large wooden building through it.

“Done. He certainly... did not make that easy.” Commander Dawson stepped back triumphantly, wiping the sweat from her brow with a relieved expression. Anton had to strain his ears to hear her. “The anchor was much more difficult to locate than I expected. Thankfully, it seems he’d had the good sense to place it right on top of a convergence of the ley-lines. That drew my attention well enough.”

Captain Montoy approached her with a salute, giving an uncertain glance towards the fluctuating portal. “Will it be stable enough for the troops to pass through, Commander?”

“Of course. It’s perfectly secure now that it’s set up.” She said confidently. “The anchor draws power from the ley-lines to keep it going. As long as someone spares some attention to maintain its stability on this side, we could keep it up indefinitely.”

No sooner than she said that, however, a sudden worried look stole over her face, as though some horrible thought had occurred to her. She drew Montoy in with a gesture, urgently whispering something into his ear.

“Oh, boy, here we go,” Anton muttered. “There’s the trouble starting.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to listen!” Emily snapped, her ears flicking with annoyance.

“What, can you still hear them?“

“Shhh!”

Anton rolled his eyes in resignation as he waited for the captain and commander to finish their muted conversation. To his relief they did not speak long – After only a few hushed exchanges, Dawson stepped forward and signalled for quiet.

“Men and women of the Alliance! Southport Garrison, in the Spires of Arak, has called upon you to help them prepare for increased aggression from the Iron Horde. The situation is still stable, but for how long remains to be seen.” She paused and swept her eyes across the crowd. “I expect each and every one of you to acquit yourselves honourably there. To man your posts with the same diligence there that you have here. To keep your eyes and ears sharp. To be ready for anything. And above all, to use your best judgment – To do yourselves and the Alliance proud.”

She rounded off her speech with a crisp nod as she stepped back to the sidelines. Montoy stepped up in her place to call them to order.

“Alright, no more dawdling! Single file, straight through. We’re already behind schedule.”

As the rabble started to organize around them, Anton decided he was more eager for answers to the dubious scene they’d witnessed than he was to actually get in line. Kalandra and Desarune moved off to join the formation, but before Emily could follow them Anton reached out and grabbed her by the wrist to hold her back. She got the message quickly, letting herself fall to the rear of the pack with him.

“So, what were they whispering about? Did you hear them?” He asked quietly as they slotted themselves into the back of the line.

“Yeah,” Emily answered. “She’s going to close the portal once we’re all through.”

His voice became a loud, urgent whisper. “She’s what!? She just said the opposite of that!”

“Well, that’s what she said,” Emily insisted, looking back at him stoically. “Montoy asked if she doesn’t trust Taylor or something, but she said it’s not Taylor she doesn’t trust.”

“... What the hell does that mean, exactly? What the hell are we walking into here?” He asked, suddenly filled with trepidation.

“No idea, but we’re about to find out.”

The portal loomed ahead of them. Only one soldier remained front of them - as he stepped over the threshold his body seemed to shimmer for a moment and then simply disappear completely. Despite the Commander’s assurance of the portal’s stability, it was still an unnerving sight to see someone apparently cease to exist in front of him. Kalandra’s condemnation rang clear in his ears beneath the portal’s hum, and he found himself unable to push it to the back of his head.

‘All kinds of disaster become possible when one takes up with the arcane’. That certainly didn’t do anything to help his waning nerves.

Ahead of him, Emily took a steeling breath and strode forward into the portal, with her back straight and her eyes forward as though it was something she might intimidate into working for her. Just like the man prior, her body seemed to lose its form before fading from sight. Anton suppressed a shudder – it looked almost like she’d just vanished into the ether.

It was his turn next. He tried to fortify himself with the knowledge that he would be perfectly safe and sound on the other side, forcing himself to believe it through sheer repetition if nothing else.

“Last one through, Miller. Where’s that hustle I asked you for a while back?” Captain Montoy asked with a wry grin.

“Sorry, sir. Just a bit...” Anton cast an askance eye towards the shifting light of the portal.

“Nervous?” Montoy finished for him. “You’ll be fine. Go on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Anton saluted, and tried to ignore what he was about to do as he stepped up to the threshold. He would be fine, it would be over before he knew it, and he’d see Emily on the other side. Simple. All he had to do was just close his eyes, keep his gait as steady as he could, and walk forward...

Ignore the brightening light that seemed to be threatening to blind him if he dared look, and walk forward...

Tune out the droning hum of the magic around him that pounded against his ears, and walk forward...

Walk forward... And pretend that the feeling of weightlessness overtaking him was something he could ignore...

* * *

* * *

The sensation of being returned all at once to Anton the very instant he got clear of the portal, his limbs suddenly regaining feeling as they became as heavy as rock. His eyes ached, his head pounded, his stomach churned, every part of his body worked in tandem seemingly with the explicit purpose of making him unpleasantly aware that he was, in fact, still alive. He staggered forward heavily in his armour but managed to keep his footing, trying to hold himself stable as he struggled with the sudden urge to throw up.

A pair of arms grabbed him by the shoulders and held him steady. Emily’s familiar voice rang in his ears. “There we go, I’ve got you. It passes quick, don’t worry. Couple of seconds. Just don’t move, or you’ll probably chuck.”

Anton spared a nod, trying to keep his eyes locked onto the least obtrusive sight he could – the paving beneath him. It felt like a bad hangover had snuck up on him, and he’d had enough of those to know how to handle it properly, or if nothing else keep himself from puking. He focused intently on willing the wobbling cobblestone below him to hold itself still, blocking everything else out as best he could.

To his surprise it worked much faster than anticipated – by degrees everything stopped swirling and came into focus. Already he felt the feeling of nausea fading, and felt confident enough to lift his head up and see where the portal had taken him.

The very first thing he noticed now that he was looking properly was the golden glow that seemed to illuminate the world around him. As he scrunched his eyes and brought his hand up to shield his face, he managed to dimly recognize it as simply being light from the morning sun – something that he’d been so long without in Shadowmoon Valley that he’d actually managed to forget was even a thing.

“Thanks, Emily. Shit’s bright,” He mumbled.

“Shit is bright, in fact,” Emily chuckled. “It’s weird. It was morning this whole time we were sitting there at the portal, but we were still just looking up at the moon a second ago.”

“Everything’s weird here. Weird is pretty much normal at this point.” Anton pointed out. His tongue still felt a bit thick in his mouth, causing him to slur his words slightly, but the queasiness was evaporating by the second and his eyes were slowly adjusting.

“Too right,” She conceded with a smile. “How you going? You feeling any better?”

“I think so. Let me check.”

He straightened himself up gingerly and opened his eyes, testing for a reaction from his body. Emily let go of his shoulders, but as she retreated she nipped forward and swiped her tongue through the opening of his helmet.

He reeled back reflexively from the approximation of a kiss, laughing despite himself. “Hey, calm down! Anyone could be watching,”

“I wouldn’t stress. Nobody’s looking,” She assured him with a cheeky grin. “You look like you’re feeling better already, anyhow.”

“Yeah, I think I am. You’re right, that did pass quick.” He stretched his arms up to the sky. The portal sickness – if that’s what it was, or if that was even a thing – seemed to have completely cleared up already, leaving him feeling hale and hearty. “Did, uh... Did anyone actually puke?”

Wordlessly Emily pointed out a splattered splotch of sick on the stones a few paces away from the portal.

“Ah, damn. Poor bastard.” Anton felt a spike of sympathy. “Hope he didn’t get any in his helm, at least.”

Her wolfish lips pursed slightly as she fixed him with a troubled look, her expression explaining in perfect silence that precisely that had happened.

“Ah. Man. Really poor bastard.” Despite himself Anton felt a ghost of a smile on his lips. At least he had managed to avoid ending up being that guy, thanks to Emily.

“Yeah... They already took him off to get cleaned up, though. He’ll –“

“Attention!”

A sharp voice ripped through the air, demanding order from the loose assembly of troops. The smatterings of chatter that had pervaded the area quieted down to nothing as the gaggle turned to face the speaker.

The first thing Anton noticed about the man was his unusually cold blue eyes, which surveyed the soldiers before him with a level of sternness that Captain Montoy couldn’t even have hoped to pretend at. His countenance spoke volumes, his folded arms and uncharitable expression telling of an officer who’d brook no deviance. Right from the off, Anton had the impression of a man who had a shit-list a mile long.

“Now there’s a guy to steer clear of,” Anton muttered under his breath to Emily.

She didn’t get a chance to respond as the man continued. “I am Watch Captain Branson. While you lot serve here, you’ll report to me.” He said imperiously. “That they’d send you along with an infirm who couldn’t step through a portal without throwing his guts up... I’ll tell you now, it says nothing good about the rest of you. Let me say this once, and once only – I don’t care what sort of shit they let fly at Lunarfall. You will be held to the strictest of standards here, and that kind of display is not something I will tolerate under my watch.”

He cast his gaze across the crowd, as if looking for signs of disagreement. Anton kept his face as blank as he could.

“I won’t stand for any behaviour that reflects poorly on myself, on this garrison, or on Admiral Taylor. I will expect you all to conduct yourselves with utmost care, and man your posts with utter diligence. I will not stand to be made to report that it was my men who failed the Alliance in any capacity.” At this, Branson’s eyes turned downright icy as he swept across his captive audience. For the brief moment that they settled on him, Anton felt as if those eyes were drilling a hole into his skull.

Upon hearing no response, the captain gave a dismissive snort. “Report to the barracks after orientation for your schedules. Your duties start first thing tomorrow. For now, I’ll leave you in Arcanist Ephial’s hands.”

A purple-robed mage behind him started slightly. The man looked as though he hadn’t been paying any attention, and had just barely recognized his name being called out. Anton halfway expected Branson to chew the shit out of him, but he turned and left without another look back, striding away uncaringly as though he’d already washed his hands of them all.

In his stead the mage stepped up toward the crowd, now with a lazy smile on his face. He looked the very spitting image of an old wizard, with a full white beard and skin pale enough that it blurred the line between his face and his fringe. “Good morning to you all. My name’s Ephial. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A moment’s silence followed, as though the man was waiting for an answer from the slightly shellshocked crowd. He seemed to realize none would come in short order, coughing gently as he clapped his hands together.

“Well, ah... No sense in wasting time. Follow me, and I’ll show you around the garrison.”

Anton once again let himself fall to the back of the pack as they clumped together and started after their guide. This time, however, it wasn’t completely intentional – he was somewhat preoccupied digesting the chilly reception they’d received.

A heavy hand clapped him on the upper back, and he looked up to see Emily giving a toothy grin. “And here was you thinking Montoy was bad.” She jibed.

“Well, he wasn’t the best, but I’ll admit he was nowhere near as bad as this guy,” Anton said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “I’m going to go ahead and guess he’s the one that Commander Dawson was bitching about. He doesn’t do much to inspire trust for me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d say that’s a fair guess.”

* * *

* * *

The Arcanist who’d been left in charge of their orientation was an oddball, to say the least. It seemed as though his mind was elsewhere the whole time he was steering them around. Even as they walked right past the barracks, he’d completely failed to say so much as a word mentioning it. It was only after they’d gotten well clear of it that he belatedly turned around and pointed out that it was there, then beckoned them onward without pause.

They were approaching the north gate now, and although Anton was certain he’d now physically seen everything of import in the garrison, Arcanist Ephial had only made mention of about half of it in between stroking his beard thoughtfully and mumbling indiscernible nonsense. As a result, Anton – and half the other soldiers – had lost interest in their orientation entirely, chattering quietly among themselves as they followed their inept guide around. Ephial had failed to notice that, as well.

“So, this is the north gate,” The oblivious old mage announced as he brought the group to a stop. “I suppose there’s not much out through there you really need to be interested in... I mean, there’s some mountains... Or, well, maybe there is, from a different point of view. As soldiers, I’d guess you might be interested in the orcs out there...”

Again his hand went to his beard and his speech dissolved into meandering mumbling. Anton groaned under his breath.

“I’m going to kill either myself, or him before the end of this. Leaning towards him at this point.”

Emily snorted with amusement. “He is a bit of a tosser, I’ll give you.”

“... So, yes. I think you might be interested in them, but you probably wouldn’t want to actually go out there and meet them.” A thoughtful nod concluded the wizard’s rambling, before he gave an abrupt clap and returned to addressing his charges directly. “In any case, I’d say that would cover your orientation pretty well.”

Once again he simply stopped speaking and looked out at them expectantly as though he expected them to agree with him. After a moment, though, he seemed to realize his folly and cleared his throat.

“Oh, yes. I’m supposed to say... Welcome to Southport Garrison!” He finished with a beaming flourish, his smile stopping just short of actually looking authentic.

No-one answered. A few glances were exchanged. Hell, what were they supposed to say? ‘Thanks, pal, we appreciate the few things you actually remembered to point out’? ‘Shut up, you weirdo, can we just go now’? None of them actually knew how this absent-minded arcanist ranked in comparison to them; the only introduction he or the Watch Captain had given them was his name. How much could they really get away with around him?

At least in Anton’s case, that was the only thought keeping him from opening his mouth and saying something stupid. He presumed it was the same for everyone else.

There was a real reason that magicians and soldiers tended not to get along. Though they fought for the same flag, they quite simply had nothing in common. They lived and worked in completely different environments. From what Anton knew of the Mage Tower, it was all about reading books, memorizing a bunch of bullshit, and never going out to get sloshed. Life in the Army, however – and to a lesser extent the Guard – was one of long shifts, tough drills, and rough camaraderie.

It was true that the differences were slowly starting to lessen, to some extent. As Kalandra had complained - and as people like Commander Dawson were testament to – magic was beginning to become more commonplace in military life, if not yet in domestic life. They hadn’t had much time for it in the Guard, but the Army was a different matter – Dawson, clearly a powerful mage in her own right, couldn’t have risen through the ranks without also being both a competent soldier and leader.

There were such things as casters that knew firsthand the hardships of fighting on the front lines, he’d seen them in number throughout the Draenor campaign so far. But the harebrained old idiot before them could very clearly not be counted among their number. He was the spitting image of those forgetful old wizards that did nothing but waste the time of whoever they were talking to.

“Oh yes, actually. Before I forget – Southport proper. That actually is something interesting outside the gates – Although, it’s pretty far off to the east, down the road. It’s smaller than this garrison, but there’s docks there... I don’t know if that’s anything relevant to any of you, I suppose, but it is something. I’m not sure if you’ll actually ever go there, really.”

Anton rolled his eyes. “You know what, changed my mind. Think I might just go with killing myself.”

“Oh, don’t do that. I might start missing you.” Emily quipped back.

“Yeah, right. Tough, cold chick like you missing anyone?” He gave her a look of mock disbelief. “Tell us another one, mad dog.”

“Shut your face,” She growled, but he could tell she was trying to keep an embarrassed smile forced down. “And it’s mad wolf.”

The sound of Ephial clapping drew them out of their whispered exchange. “So, that concludes the tour. Don’t forget to head back to the barracks for your schedules.”

“Finally. Let’s go.” Anton wasted no time breaking away from the group.

“Oh, yes – I almost forgot to say. Welcome to Southport Garrison!” Ephial called out cheerily before a troubled look befell his face. “Wait. I think I did say that already, actually...”

Anton grimaced. “Light above. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *

* * *

Anton whiled away most of the afternoon chatting idly with Emily as they wandered around the garrison, seeking to better acquaint themselves with the place since their introduction had completely failed to do that for them. Granted, orientations usually didn’t do a very good job of dispelling the feelings of discomfort and displacement that came with a new workspace – and living space, in their case – but this one had been remarkably terrible.

Strictly speaking they hadn’t really needed to bother, but they’d done it anyway. They had been assigned to the north gate, and he could tell where that was easily enough. It wasn’t like a gate was a hard thing to find, independent of whether or not Arcanist Ephial had remembered to point it out.

Despite the fact that they hadn’t needed to, however, Emily had pointed out that it would still be handy to actually know where things were. They had located an inn, which Anton in particular was greatly relieved to see, but hadn’t bothered actually going in. Anton doubted they would serve the two of them when they were on duty tomorrow. Doubly so when he considered that it was their first day there. Over the course of the afternoon, he had been vindicated as he’d watched some of the other fresh arrivals make their way into the pub. Each time, just a few minutes afterward, they would emerge again bearing disappointed expressions.

Anton found the whole place to be a bit more relaxed than what he had expected, given that they had been called in as reinforcements to shore the place up against orc attacks. He had anticipated controlled chaos, wary patrolmen keeping an attentive eye out as the labourers hurried about their tasks. The garrison seemed to completely lack for that kind of urgency; when Lunarfall was just being established and there was still the threat of being attacked at any moment, it was something one could practically feel in the air.

Instead the patrols were few and far between, and they walked with a bearing of nonchalance as though they didn’t really expect to encounter any trouble. The workers went about their business with the kind of loud and boisterous chatter that you just didn’t hear out of men under pressure.

It seemed as though there hadn’t been any action at Southport Garrison for a while, if at all. Anton chose to take that as a good omen – it stood to reason that if they hadn’t been attacked yet, the odds of them being attacked in future were slimmer. If he didn’t have to entertain the possibility that each day he woke up might be his dying day, that was just fine by him.

Kalandra and Desarune had joined their wanderings at some point in the day. As usual, they’d had to suffer Desarune immediately starting up with his typical quips about them, but to his credit this time he stopped after Anton shot him an angry look. Emily had reacted as stoically as she ever did, with little more than an aside glance.

Anton still held hope there’d come a day when he’d shut up about it completely. Maybe. If nothing else, he just had to remember that at least the elf made for decent enough company once he’d gotten it out of his system.

“It’s certainly interesting to see the sun again.” Kalandra said, her tone non-committal as she shielded her eyes and looked up into its light.

“’Interesting’?” Anton asked, confused. Personally he’d been quite captivated by the sun for a good while. After not seeing it for some-odd weeks, it had been quite a novel spectacle. “Just ‘interesting’? That’s it?”

“Well, yes. Just interesting,” She answered, a little defensively. “The endless night was quite nice, you know, but I’d almost started to miss the sun. I’d like to go back there someday if we can, however.”

“Why - Oh, right. Night elf and all.” Anton realized.

“Yes, there is a reason behind the name, after all,” Kalandra smiled wryly. “I must say it’s strange, however. I would never have thought it possible to actually grow tired of only ever seeing Elune’s light, but there it is. Too much of a good thing, I suppose...”

“Not for me,” Desarune interjected with a shake of his head. “I’ve no idea what causes the endless night there, but I don’t think I could ever get tired of it.”

“Speaking for myself, I’m just glad that I can go outside and be warm again just like that.” Anton chimed in, snapping his fingers for effect. “It’s just not the same to have to warm up near the fire all the time. It was like late autumn weather, but all day, every day.”

“Mmmh. I was never that cold,” Emily gave a shrug, before a smug smile spread across her face. “But then, I could see why someone without fur would be complaining.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit rubbing it in, dog breath.” Anton waved her off with faux irritation.

“Oooh. ‘Dog breath’? He’s busting out the wolf jokes. I must have struck a nerve.” She stuck her tongue out through her smirk.

Desarune fixed them with a puzzled gaze. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d sometimes think you two were quarrelling siblings instead of lov–“

Anton shushed him loudly, paranoiacally checking to make sure no-one had heard before rounding on the elf again. “Come on, can you just stop bringing that up where anyone might hear?”

“Sorry.” Desarune apologized. “It slipped my mind.”

“It slips your mind a lot, I’ve noticed,” Anton groused. The elf just shrugged, as though it was something he simply couldn’t help. Anton narrowed his eyes, but Emily cut in before he could really start to speak his mind.

“So what did you lot reckon of that Captain Branson?”

It was a sudden question, but Anton wouldn’t be found wanting for complaints to make. “Angry old bastard. Big piece of shit, I can already tell,” He grumbled.

Kalandra quirked one of her long eyebrows. “Well. He did seem quite... irascible. He reminded me of some of the Sentinel instructors during my training in Darnassus. They could be quite harsh.”

“It was not pleasant to learn under them, frankly,” Desarune agreed slowly. “They were excellent teachers and leaders, of course, but it was still unpleasant. I think it will be the same with this Branson.”

“Hmph, I’ll hold off on calling him ‘excellent’ until I see it myself,” Anton glowered. “What do you think then, Emily? Since you brought it up.”

She was silent for a moment, her ears down as she appeared to be deep in thought. When it came, her response was quiet and measured. “I don’t know. Don’t think I liked him that much.”

“Why not? You mean because he’s a massive piece of shit?” Anton immediately asked.

“Well, yes,” She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. “It’s past that, though. Something about him just rubs me the wrong –“

“Oh, dear, look at the time. It’s almost night,” Desarune abruptly interrupted. “Kalandra and I were intending to have a look around at the fields outside the south gate before sundown. We’d best be off – Come on, sister.”

“Uh, alright. Fair enough. See you two later, then.” Anton said, a little taken aback.

Kalandra looked a little befuddled herself as Desarune practically led her away by the wrist and pointed back at something behind them all. Anton turned around to see what all the fuss was about, and immediately realized why the elf had wanted to bail so quickly.

A man in ornamental plate who Anton didn’t recognize and the dreaded Arcanist Ephial were drawing near at a steady pace, absorbed in animated conversation. Or at least, the armoured man was for his part; Ephial was only nodding absent-mindedly every now and again as he inspected a fancifully-embellished letter he was carrying.

Too close now to run away without drawing their attention. Anton had to hand it to Desarune, he’d seen his opportunity and he’d taken it.

He heaved a sigh. “Don’t look now, here comes that old guy again.”

“What old guy?” Emily asked as she followed his gaze. Her face fell almost comically as she realized exactly who he was talking about, her ears dropping flat against her head. “Oh, bugger. That old guy.”

Anton hoped that the doddering old mage wouldn’t remember them and would simply walk right past, but to his irritation a flash of recognition entered the bearded wizard’s eyes as he angled around towards them.

With that hope dashed, Anton prayed instead that he would be too unsettled by Emily’s bestial appearance to come and greet them, but to his consternation the man decided to stride over towards them and leave the annoyed-looking officer following in his wake.

With his prayers unanswered, Anton had no other choice. He had nothing left but to beg that Ephial would just tip his hat and move on instead of inflicting his abhorrent conversational skills upon them, but to his frustration the robed man insisted on opening his mouth.

“Hello, again. You two were with the new arrivals from Lunarfall,” He said with a lazy smile. “Settling in well? I trust my orientation helped some.”

He puffed his chest out proudly. Once again, Anton had to hold himself back from saying something he’d regret.

“Oh, yes. It’s really quite nice here.” Emily’s scratchy voice came to the rescue. “Seems rather quiet, so far.”

“Yes... I’m not predicting that will last long, though.” Ephial shrugged. “Those orcish brutes seem to be encroaching nearer and nearer by the day. A bit frustrating, to be sure.”

“Oh, yeah. Frustrating. Just a bit.” Anton said sarcastically.

Emily shot him a warning glare, but the wizard just nodded enthusiastically, completely failing to notice the venom. The armoured man following along with him quirked an eyebrow.

“Ah! I almost forgot. This is Commander Dunberlin. Have you met him yet?”

Anton winced inwardly, kicking himself for not recognizing. The commander. And he’d been mouthing off right in front of him.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” He and Emily both stood straight and saluted.

“At ease, soldiers. It’s good to see some new blood around here.” The commander waved them off with a nod. “Ephial, we’d best keep moving. Admiral Taylor will be wanting to see that invitation sooner rather than later.”

“Ahh, yes! You know, I’m quite excited about this, actually,” Ephial flipped the letter around in his hands with a smile. “It could be worth a fair amount of gold, if we win. The Ring of Blood pays quite well from what I hear.”

“For the last time already, we don’t have any need of that gold. We have the Grand Alliance’s treasury behind us,” Dunberlin countered impatiently. If Anton had to guess, the man had already spent too much time in Ephial’s company. “Taylor won’t waste manpower on this.”

“We’ll see,” Ephial said mildly, perusing the letter again. “It’s too much gold to ignore. He’ll come around.”

“Oh, for – You know what, fine. If you say so.” Dunberlin pinched his nose in exasperation, before ushering Ephial onward down the path. “Come on. You take it up with him, and we’ll see what he says.”

“Of course, of course,” The wizard raised his hand in an absent-minded wave as he was walked away. “Goodbye, now. Nice to see you two again!”

Anton and Emily just quietly watched him go.

“If we have any luck at all,” Anton muttered, “We’ll never have to talk to that guy again.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” Emily said neutrally. “You happen to know anything about that Ring of Blood thing?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it once or twice from people in the pub. It’s this kind of gladiator arena,” Anton explained. “Some goblin runs it. Apparently he corrals a bunch of monsters up and takes bets on people fighting them.”

“Huh. And they sent an invite to Admiral Taylor? For what, to come and fight or something?”

Anton just shrugged, mirroring her previous action. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He heaved a sigh as the sun finally started to dip down below the walls, the shadows of the garrison starting to lengthen dramatically in its wake. He was starting to get tired, despite not doing much the whole day. Even simply walking and talking had a way of taking it out of you if you stayed awake doing it for too long. Guard duty itself was testament to that fact in its own way, really.

“Well, interesting first day. Feels like we’ve got some excitement to look forward to now, at least,” Emily shook her head slowly as she turned her eyes to the sunset. “It’s getting a bit dark. We better head back to the barracks before we find out the hard way what time lights out actually is.”

“Yeah. Good idea,” He nodded. “Would have been nice if that old guy had told us that. Seems like the kind of thing you might think to cover in orientation.”

“You’d think,” Emily agreed. “Must have slipped his mind or something. Who’d have thought?”

They chatted idly together as they headed along to where their bunks waited, leaving the curious conversation as something to be ruminated on overnight.


	3. The Quiet Shift

Anton leaned back and stretched, his armour clinking and shuffling with the motion. From the corner of his eye he saw Emily place her hammer head first down on the ground and mimic him.

It was their first official shift at their new posting, and the novelty hadn’t quite worn off yet. The land was radically different from Shadowmoon Valley; The grass was sparse and thin, the trees were few and far between, and the dirt beneath his boots was loose and dry. Where Shadowmoon was a land of greens so deep they might be mistaken for blue, Arak was a place of stark contrasts with its ochre earth and bright green foliage.

It was certainly a refreshing change.

“You know what’s great about this place?” Anton asked off the cuff.

“What’s that?” Emily rolled her shoulder idly.

“Pretty much everything, compared to Lunarfall.” He said with a sharp inhalation. “Smell that air. Look at the sun. Look at those big-ass mountains off in the distance!”

The spire-like mountains from which the land clearly derived its name presented a particularly imposing vista, even from their distance. The trees grew thicker around them, enough so that near their bases one might have mistaken it for a slightly drier-looking Elwynn Forest.

Still, despite their intimidating size, they were quite picturesque. Anton had a feeling that any painter back in Stormwind would pay a fortune to be standing where he was now.

Emily craned her head slightly as she looked off towards them. “They are pretty impressive. I wonder how tall they actually are?”

“No idea. Bet it’s where those arakkoa live, though. Birds like tall stuff like that, right?” He frowned slightly. “If anything Atoh said is true, we better hope they don’t decide to come down and pay us a visit.”

“She did seem pretty scared of them,” Emily pondered. “She complained about them when we were guarding that caravan too, do you remember?”

“Yeah, she did too,” Anton nodded as he recalled. “I wonder how many people they’ve lost to them. Must be a fair few.”

“Must be.”

Anton looked up at the tremendous mountains again pensively. “What do you reckon the odds of them actually attacking us here are?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Emily answered honestly. “I’d say low because we’re a good ways off them, but then I’d also say high because we have to be pretty visible here from a vantage point like that. So I really don’t know.”

“Well, for the sake of my sanity, I’m just going to assume they’ll leave us alone.” Anton resolved. “Knowing me I’d probably kill myself worrying before they actually got here.”

She gave a low chuckle. “I like this new take. Interesting. What brought this on, though? Usually you’re the first one to complain we’re going to die.”

“Well, it’s not a sure thing yet,” Anton clarified with a slightly self-conscious grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back to it when I’m sure we’re doomed.”

Another amused chuckle escaped her. “So was it a sure thing the last time you said it, too?”

“... At the time, yes.”

At this she burst into outright laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. Just like every other sound out of her mouth, her laugh was coarse and rough – as far from musical as a laugh could possibly be. Nonetheless, it proved itself contagious, and Anton couldn’t help a genuine smile spreading across his face.

He always appreciated seeing such outbursts of real emotion from her. Even after warming up to him, she always seemed to keep herself quite guarded in even the most casual of conversation. She’d smile, but rarely laugh. She’d be upset, but never cry.

As basic as he knew it was, he still enjoyed something as simple as seeing her laugh.

“You’ve got a good comedy act sometimes, I’ll give you that,” She said mirthfully.

“Thanks, I think.” He said with a reluctant grin.

“It’s a compliment, don’t worry,” She winked.

Her ears flicked back towards the inner of the garrison, and Anton knew without looking that someone was coming. When he looked, however, he was surprised to see what he could only assume was a trio of elite Alliance soldiers.

Two men and a woman were striding confidently towards them, in full gear and with weapons and packs strapped on their backs. Anton could only presume they vastly outranked him, judging by the sheer amount of gold filigreeing on their armour. For a moment he had to wonder at the practicality of the kit, but he could only suppose there was something that they knew and he didn’t which made them confident in it. For all he knew the intimidation value it added was worth it on its own.

More baffling was what business they might have. Their packs stood out starkly from their armour, simple leather affairs clearly filled to capacity with supplies for trekking through the wilderness. Who would go out on that kind of trip in plate armour?

Anton and Emily both gave a salute to the man in front as he approached them.

“Good morning, sir.” Anton said respectfully. All other matters aside, he had at least identified someone of superior rank to him this time, and would hopefully avoid making a fool of himself this time.

“Morning, soldiers. Can’t say I recognize you. New from Lunarfall?” The man asked politely. At their synchronized nods, he continued. “I see. Well, I’m certain you’ll do the Alliance proud in my absence. Claudia, Edward and I are answering a summons. We’re headed for the Ring of Blood.”

Anton instantly remembered the letter that Ephial had mentioned in passing the other day, and for a moment he froze in shock. This wasn’t just some officer.

He was standing in front of Admiral Taylor himself.

He found himself completely unsure of what to say. He’d had absolutely no idea that they would be visited by the guy in charge of the whole joint, first thing in the morning on their first shift, nor that the manner of his appearance would be as inexplicable as it was.

“Admiral Taylor, sir – Sorry, I didn’t realize – Wait, where are you headed? You’re going out yourself?” The words spilled out of his mouth before he could regain his composure.

“The Ring of Blood, and of course I am.” The admiral said matter-of-factly. He gestured to the two behind him. “We’re more than a match for anything we might encounter out there, on the road or in the arena.”

Anton could only stare. Admiral Taylor was planning to just leave the garrison and stride out into the wilds of Arak, off to a bloodsport arena in Light knows where?

Emily spoke up as she stepped out of the way, distracting him before he could voice his incredulity. “Right you are, sir. Good luck out there.”

After a moment’s hesitation Anton followed her lead, quietly stepping off the path and letting the small entourage past with another salute. Taylor led the way at a clipped pace, sparing a curt nod to them as he went.

They both silently watched him go. Anton was busily struggling to process what this meant.

“That was quick. Sure didn’t want to stop to chat.” He muttered. “So. If I’m counting right that’s two times the guy in charge has walked out on us. Two different stations, two times. Is this common Army practice or something? Just casually walk off and leave the garrison to fend for itself? That can’t be allowed. Should we have said something?”

“I don’t think so. They’ve probably got it all sorted out,” Emily answered, still tracking them with her eyes.

“Hmph. Reckon we’ll actually see him make it back here?”

“You taking bets?” She asked, a sly look on her face.

“No. I ain’t falling for that again,” He answered quickly. “You’re not worried about this at all, though?”

“A little, but we’ll be alright,” She said simply. “We made it through fine when Commander Dawson wandered off at Lunarfall, remember? In fact, if we hadn’t overheard her say she was leaving, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t even have known she was gone in the first place.”

“Hmm. Good point.” He admitted. “I guess you’re right. You know, some days I wish I could be as optimistic as you about this kind of shit.”

“Well, it’s something you work on. You were off to a good start when you said you weren’t going to worry about the arakkoa. Just keep doing that.”

Anton nodded thoughtfully. It sounded manageable enough when she put it like that.

* * *

* * *

The arch of the gate provided some shelter from the sun above them as the day passed, tiding them over until the evening rolled around. The north gate at Southport Garrison had proven to be considerably busier than the north gate of Lunarfall. Where on their previous post they’d had no traffic but the occasional miner bringing in a cart of stone or ore and had rarely had to give them more than a cursory check, now they found themselves dealing with logging teams and their animals hauling in wood, soldiers coming and going on routine patrols along the road to the port, and even a few scouts and survivalists being sent further out into Arak. Those in particular he spared a silent thought for. He couldn’t think of a bigger ask than having to brave the wilds of Draenor.

The loggers in particular intrigued him. Here their draft animals were mostly horses, although there were a few talbuk interspersed. Clearly they had to have had some beasts brought through a portal at some point – the sheer quantity of them suggested that Southport had far more backing from the Alliance than Lunarfall did.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t really muster up a genuine complaint about the shift. It was still less traffic than some of the spots he’d had to man in the Stormwind Guard. The Trade District could be absolute hell when it wanted to.

Things started to slow down when the sky took on a tinge of red, the sun finally showing some mercy and retreating behind the hills. It was getting close to Anton’s favourite time of day: the changing of the guard. Knock-off time for him at last.

“You got the time?” He asked Emily, hoping to know exactly how long they had left to wait.

“Just about time our shift’s over.” She said nonchalantly.

“No shit. But the actual time?”

She just shrugged. “I look like I got the salary for one of those fancy timepieces to you?”

“Well, you got this look like you could threaten someone into giving you one.” He said cheekily. “You know, there’s this gnome in Stormwind who makes them, he sells them pretty cheap.”

“So how come you haven’t got one?” She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Well, I do, but it’s back in Stormwind, isn’t it?” He pointed out with an emphatic gesture.

She rolled her eyes and gave a slightly exasperated huff. “Alright, alright. No, I don’t got the time.”

“Ah, shame... Guess we have to just wait here for our replacements then.”

“Guess so.”

Anton tried not to look too impatient as he waited, diligently keeping himself from fidgeting. He was eager to get out of his armour, maybe even visit the inn if they’d allow him to. He was on duty again tomorrow, of course, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t hold his liquor. One drink had never hurt. Quite the opposite, always made a nice nightcap in fact.

With little more warning than a twitch of her ear, Emily suddenly looked away into the garrison. For a moment a somewhat hopeful expression graced her bestial face, but it fell comically quickly into a look of dismay. Anton almost laughed, before he followed her gaze and witnessed the horror that had given her pause.

Arcanist Ephial was meandering up the path towards them, seemingly paying no attention to where he was going as he almost wandered off the cobbled path before righting himself with a surprised exclamation.

“Gracious me, I nearly went right off the path there.” The wizard chuckled.

Anton tried hard to keep his face impassive, but he knew there was a part of him that was dying inside just watching. Next to him, Emily had a similarly unimpressed look upon her face. There before them walked a man who had trouble keeping himself from toppling off a flat stone path. A man who somebody had decided was fit to man an active garrison.

There was just something about him; some way he had of making himself supremely unlikable that Anton couldn’t quite comprehend. Maybe it was some power that he’d never be able to understand. All he truly knew was that he had to steel himself before the old codger actually started talking to them and really tested his patience.

“Evening. What business brings you out here?” Anton called as briskly as he could, hoping to get him gone as quickly as possible.

“Ah, good evening,” The arcanist replied, his voice frustratingly serene. “I’ve a small affair to clear up outside the walls before sunset. I’d rather have waited till tomorrow, frankly, but Commander Dunberlin told me he’d prefer it done today.”

He presented them with a piece of paper, which Anton had to squint to read in the fading light. It was little more than a short description of the job Ephial had been assigned – some nonsense about ley structures which Anton had no idea about whatsoever – and Branson’s signature.

It was good enough for Anton. He didn’t really want to kick up a fuss anyway, because that would mean having to put up with Ephial for longer.

He handed the wizard back his letter and spoke tersely as he stepped out of the way. “Alright. Good luck with that.”

“Thank you! I’ll tell you how I went when I come back through,” Ephial smiled as he made his way past them.

“Please don’t.” Anton muttered under his breath behind the wizard’s retreating back. “Please, oh please, gracious Light above, if you’ve any mercy at all, please let us be off our shift before he comes back.”

“Hey, Anton?” Emily asked casually.

“What?”

“Got some good news for you.” She jerked her thumb off down the path inside the garrison, bringing Anton’s attention to two soldiers slowly making their way towards them.

Their replacements, at last. Anton couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across his face.

* * *

* * *

“You know what I want?” Anton immediately asked Emily as they met up outside the barracks. Night had not truly fallen yet, but the lantern posts lit around the garrison were certainly starting to earn their keep in the late evening. It was the perfect time to hit the pub.

He garnered no reply except for an intense stare. For a moment he waited for a response, but it became clear none was forthcoming when she only continued to scrutinize him in the lamplight. Her gaze was quickly becoming unsettling.

“What? What’s that look for?” He asked nervously.

“I’m trying really hard to guess what you might want.”

“Oh, go to hell,” He aimed a light punch at her shoulder, but she didn’t even seem to feel it as she laughed it off. “No, what I want is a nice drink.”

She quirked an eyebrow down at him. “We’re on shift tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s why I said ‘a drink’ and not ‘half a dozen drinks’,” He insisted, confidently heading off in the direction of the inn. “We don’t need to get smashed off our faces or anything, but come on, a little nightcap would be nice.”

“Well, I suppose so,” She admitted as she caught up and fell into step beside him. “They’re going to ask if we’re on duty tomorrow, though, you know.”

“Then we’ll just tell them we only want one, simple as. They always come around.” He explained.

“That might work at your city pubs,” She countered, her expression dubious. “I doubt an inn at an Army garrison is going to be quite that careless.”

“We’ll see about that.” Anton answered confidently. “There’s no reason why they wouldn’t. We’re not dealing with any officers or nothing, it’s an inn.”

“How about because that Captain Branson guy might come and kick their arses up into their mouths?” Emily pointed out.

“Oh, yeah...” Anton deflated a bit as he considered that, but regained his pomp just as fast with a careless shrug. “Well, it’s still worth trying.”

“Sure, we can try. Bet you some silver they fob us off, though.”

“Not taking that bet. I told you last time, I’m not falling for that again.”

The path to the tavern was not terribly long, and in the early evening gloom they didn’t come across many other people. Anton was grateful for the quiet; they’d always had to be on their guard around other people if they wanted to keep their relationship to themselves. At Lunarfall, it had felt like they were liable to run into any number of men and women at any hour of the day – or night, as it were. Here, the only people they saw were on patrol or were headed to the pub just like themselves.

The inn itself was a different story, however. Even as they drew near they could hear the loud sounds of carousing and revelry from inside, a stark contrast to the quiet pervading the rest of the garrison. Anton grinned in anticipation, his mood lifting even as he brought his hand up to open the door.

A real inn. He’d gone too long without seeing one.

He wrenched the door open gladly, drinking in the sight of the bar room. The full tables and benches, the crowd of patrons and servers flitting around and between them, the bar and the precious bottles on the shelves behind it. A blazing stone hearth burned bright against the wall, some strange-looking animal head that Anton didn’t recognize mantled above it.

All at once, it was like he was back in Stormwind again, crossing the threshold of the Pig and Whistle Tavern.

“Shit yeah,” He breathed quietly. “Come on, Emily, let’s go.”

Anton noticed more than a few glances directed their way as they weaved their way through the bustle of bodies. Most dismissed them quickly, but a few reserved a wary eye for Emily. He was hardly surprised; the majority of the inn’s occupants were human, dwarf, gnome or elf, with a few draenei – commonplace sights for just about any member of the Alliance. Emily stood out as the only worgen he could see in the building.

It had its perks, though. The crowd would part more willingly for her than they would for Anton, so he ended up just following in her wake as they wended through the room. She seemed to take it all in stride, steadily ignoring everyone around them as they reached the bar.

Anton wasted no time, immediately rapping his knuckles against the wood in an effort to be heard. “Barkeep, let’s have an ale over here!”

“And one for me, as well.” Emily leaned past him to tap one claw on the counter.

A diminutive gnome stepped up behind the bar, clearly standing on a stool or somesuch to actually see over it. He appraised them with a careful eye. “Hm. Can’t say I recognize you two. Definitely haven’t seen any worgen around before. You’re with the new arrivals from Lunarfall, aren’t you?”

“Certainly are.” Emily confirmed with a brisk nod.

“Right. Well, I’m obligated to ask if you two are on duty tomorrow,” The gnome stated uncertainly, flicking his eyes up nervously towards Emily.

“Well, yeah, we are,” Anton answered casually. “But we’re only after just the one. Nothing that could hurt.”

“Nothing that could hurt.” Emily backed him up with another brisk nod, staring intently down at the tiny gnome and tapping her claw again for effect.

To his credit, the bartender actually looked to hold himself together pretty well beneath Emily’s intimidating gaze. He met her eyes surprisingly stoically, clearly considering his options, but before long he capitulated with a crisp nod. “Alright... But just the one. Hard limit. Don’t come back up here and push your luck.”

Anton couldn’t be sure exactly how much of the warning was just bluster, but he was nonetheless impressed that the guy hadn’t just wet himself and rolled over completely. He’d even given them some backtalk. For a gnome, in the face of a big old scary wolf monster like Emily, that was a hell of a feat. She had to be more than twice his height, easily.

He returned hefting two glass tankards in short order and placed them up on the counter, his expression neutral. “Starting a tab?”

“Nah, I can pay,” Anton answered. It was probably a bit of an odd call, but it wouldn’t hurt to butter the barkeep up a bit if they were going to be coming back here at any point. No sense in completely antagonizing him.

He fished around in the coin purse on his belt, only to find that it was completely empty. To his dismay, he suddenly remembered that it had been so for quite a while – with the disastrous landing at Lunarfall, none of them had been getting paid in coin. Montoy had assured everyone under his command that they would be backpaid – from what he’d heard they had even started that process – but they hadn’t gotten around to Anton before he’d been transferred out.

In hindsight he should have kicked up more of a stink about it, but it had completely slipped his mind . He’d been too focused on worrying about how they were going to die.

He swallowed his spit. “Ah. Actually, I suppose I will –”

“I’ll pay for his, as well,” Emily interjected, reaching into her own purse. “How much?”

“You don’t have to –”

“It’s fine,” She waved him off. “I always keep some coins on me.”

Anton didn’t object further as she handed the money over. Part of his silence was in the fact that it was dumb to pass up a free drink offered when he couldn’t pay for it himself, but there was more than that. It felt... nice that Emily was willing to cover for him, even in something so small. That she cared enough to show it was enough to give him the old warm and fuzzies.

“Hey,” She caught his attention with a nudge, gesturing off towards the far end of the room. “There’s a decent table over in the corner that’s free.”

“Works for me,” He agreed. “Thanks for covering, by the way,”

“If you’d do the same for me, it’s no worries.” She said, her smile surprisingly gentle.

“You know I would.” He said emphatically.

“There you go, then. Come on,” She led the way to their table, examining her drink as she slid herself down onto a chair. “This stuff better be good. I’m not usually one for ale.”

“So then why’d you get one? You could have got something else.” He asked.

“Thought I’d give it a try, I guess. Anyway, I don’t mind it if it’s good. I’ve had some decent ones before.” She said lightly.

“Yeah? Where at?” He probed as he took a sip of his drink, trying to avoid spilling the head of foam. It wasn’t too bad – maybe just a bit weak. “The Pig and Whistle does a decent brew, did you ever try it?”

“Nah. I might if we ever make it back to Stormwind, though.” She sipped at her own drink, even slower and more gently than Anton had. The shape of her muzzle looked to make it a somewhat more awkward affair than it was for him.

“‘If’?” Mocking disbelief tinged his tone. “I thought you were the one telling me to try and be more positive...?”

“Sorry. Right you are. When we get back to Stormwind, I’ll try it.” She gave a short, barking laugh as she put her mug back down. “I usually liked getting a nice wine when I went out to the pub. Back in Emberstone they had this beautiful pinot noir, you know. Best thing I’ve ever had. Wasn’t that popular, though...”

“Wine? Really? Wouldn’t have pegged you for the type,” He said with slight surprise. “Always thought you’d go for something harder. Whiskey, or something.”

She shook her head. “Burns my throat too bad. Never got how people drink that shit.”

“Yeah, same,” He agreed as he took a deeper chug from his tankard. “Still, wine though... That’s a drink for those old fart nobles and wizards.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a nice wine,” She insisted. “Never got why people think there is, either. What, is it just because it’s sweeter or something?”

Truthfully he’d never wondered that either. “I don’t know. Maybe. I thought you didn’t like sweet stuff, though?”

“What?” She cocked her head slightly.

“Remember that sugar cider, or whatever it was? You complained about it being too sweet.”

A flash of recognition shone on her face. “Ohh, yeah, I remember. Yeah, but that one was way too sweet. Not a hint of subtlety to it whatsoever.”

“‘Subtlety’? You really do sound like one of those old farts.” He mocked. “‘Oh yes, the texture of it is just exquisite... It’s got such a subtle taste...’”

“I’ll whack you around the head, you keep that up.” She poked one claw at him across the table, visibly trying to keep herself from smirking. “You know, you should try it some time. You might even like it.”

“Yeah. Alright, if – Sorry, when we get back to Stormwind, then.”

He wondered what it might be like to share a night at the pub with her back in Stormwind, where they would both have the liberty of getting properly smashed instead of limiting themselves to just one tankard. It might be amusing to see if enough of the drink loosened her usually strict, stoic discipline up at all. She was a fair sight more personable these days, but never moreso than on that night they’d shared their cider.

On the other hand, it might bring up some more unwelcome questions if anyone he knew saw them keeping company. There’d immediately be questions brought up about the... precise nature of their relationship. He didn’t know if he’d be able to take whatever jokes people could think up about sharing his bed with a worgen. There had to be some good ones, but he didn’t want to imagine any of them being used on him.

Now that the thought crossed his mind, he realized that even here they were still in need of somewhere to play nookie away from prying eyes. The barracks that would be their home for the immediate future was too small to even whisper without being overheard, let alone commit themselves to anything more salacious. Not that he’d ever consider even trying such a thing even in a larger barracks, of course. That was tantamount to career suicide, if not actual suicide when he considered the way that Watch Captain Branson had acted.

“Just realized something,” Anton mentioned offhandedly. “We’re going to have to try and find somewhere where we can get some alone time here, you know.”

She nodded in lazy agreement. “True. Although... It might be a better idea to keep it on the down low for a few days.”

“What? Why?” The suggestion was scandalous to Anton’s ears.

“Well, you know. Imagine if they catch us together the day after we get here. We’d get a fair whipping for that.”

“That just means we have to not get caught,” He smirked. “How hard can it be? Nobody cottoned on at Lunarfall, even with Desarune running his mouth, and how long did we spend there? Weeks?”

“Well, yeah, good point... We’ll see, then,” She conceded. “I’ll admit, it would be nice.”

“Nice is underselling it a bit, don’t you think?” He grinned, and a clandestine smile spread across Emily’s muzzle in response. It could be something for them to look forward to, at least.

An easy silence fell between the two of them then as they turned to slowly draining their drinks. Anton let himself soak in the serenity of the busy bar room, enjoying the warmth and the noise. The chattering and yelling of patrons blended together with the clinking of glass, forming a melody that reminded him heavily of the ambience back in Stormwind taverns.

Whoever had decorated the room seemed to have gone all out, sparing no expense for comfort. Where Lunarfall Garrison had been nothing but sparse and spartan with its buildings and furnishings - at least the parts of it that he’d seen, in any case – here, someone actually seemed to have put in some effort to just making the place seem cozy. Granted, the barracks wasn’t much better than Lunarfall’s, but as long as the tavern was here for him to come back to, he wouldn’t have a complaint to make.

Good old alcohol, the cornerstone of all civilization. Everyone needed an opportunity to get themselves shitfaced every once in a while as far as Anton was concerned, and anyone who claimed otherwise was either lying or crazy. Even the Army could recognize the necessity of a drop for the troops, though they regulated it as hard as they could get away with.

In fact, a case could be made that the people with the least contact with alcohol tended to be the most crazy. Hermits and rangers would almost always develop incomparable amounts of eccentricities as they spent inordinate amounts of time out in the wild, away from proper houses and civilized society. He’d never be able to make it like that. Although, that begged the question – Emily had said she’d done it, hadn’t she?

“Hey, I remember you saying back when we met that you’d roughed it out in the wild for a while,” Anton asked, rubbing his chin. “How long was that for? Were you like a hunter or something before you became a guard?”

“Oh, that? No, it was nothing like that...” She seemed somewhat embarrassed. “When I first got... you know, bitten... they had a potion to make us able to control ourselves. But it wouldn’t last, so they had us take a trip out to this massive tree for a ritual that would help us. Me and a bunch of other worgen, we all had to sleep under the stars for a fair few nights. A week or two, I think.”

“Oh. Huh.” Anton was taken aback. “That’s... weird. I guess I thought you meant you could just sleep out in the open whenever you felt like it.”

“Nah... I mean, I guess I probably could, maybe, but... I’ve never really properly roughed it, if I’m honest. It wasn’t that hard with a coat of fur, but still didn’t really count. I was just sort of saying it to razz you up, back then.” She shrugged ruefully. “... I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t worry about it, I was just wondering,” He said nonchalantly. “I’d actually pretty much forgotten you even said it until just now.”

“No, I’m serious,” She insisted, looking away with an almost helpless expression. “You were right, I was sort of looking down on you. I don’t know... I don’t even know why, really, I guess I just did it...”

“Don’t worry about it, you already apologized anyway,” Anton said emphatically. “It’s fine.”

“If you say so,” She conceded, still not looking entirely convinced as she took another mouthful of her ale.

“I do say so.” Anton wasn’t sure what more he could say to express that he’d gotten over it, so he simply didn’t bother. Instead he drained the rest of his drink in one long draught, placing it back down heavily with a half-covered belch. “Alright. Wish we could stay, but we better get back to the barracks before anyone starts wondering where we are.”

She followed his lead, efficiently chugging the rest of her tankard as she pushed herself up out of her chair. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s get out of here.”


	4. Something Rotten

Anton and Emily’s second day at Southport Garrison was proving a lot less eventful than the first. Although there were still infrequent patrols and other assorted personnel coming and going, most of the logging teams that had filled their hours with tedium the previous day seemed to have completely disappeared. In their absence, the two of them had quickly reached the part where it got boring.

In practice, boredom was always a matter of inevitability. Where they were on duty was frankly irrelevant. They could be sitting in the most beautiful and picturesque place with nothing but natural wonders in every direction, or looking out into a hellscape of ash, fire and agony – no matter where they were assigned, they were still on guard duty, and it was practically guaranteed that at the end twelve-odd hours of standing there they would still be bored with it.

Sometimes it became grating as soon as an hour or two in. Other times, it could take a few days or more. The pair of them hadn’t done too bad – they’d made it halfway through their second shift before they ran out of boring crap to talk about. After that, the boredom had properly sunk in, and as they stood there starting to bake under the increasingly hot Arak sun, they could finally say they were properly doing their job. Looking around at nothing in particular for hours on end was the truest essence of what it meant to be on guard duty.

“Is it just me, or are we getting a lot less traffic here now than we were yesterday?” Anton asked. A part of him wondered if he preferred the utter lack of people coming through or not. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the quiet shift, but with no foot traffic there was nothing whatsoever to break the monotony.

“No, it does seem a lot quieter.” Emily answered from across the path, looking back into the garrison curiously. There was still activity within, but none of it was reaching them. “They must have all those loggers doing something with the timber they brought in the other day.”

“Yeah, well, they can send them back any time they feel like now. I’m bored.” Anton griped.

“I know,” Emily answered impassively. “Just enjoy the break. We’ll be due for something bad to happen soon, with our luck.”

Anton glowered at her. “You know, the last time you said that, something bad actually did happen.”

“That just means I was right after all.” She shrugged.

“More like you jinxed it. You made it happen,” He narrowed his eyes. “You watch, we’re about to get completely shat on again now.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” She laughed dismissively. “Just saying it doesn’t make it come true, or we’d be dead a dozen times over from all the garbage you spew.”

“We’ll see. You watch and see.”

From the corner of his eye he saw her turn to face him, and even through the strangeness of her wolfish face he could see skeptical amusement written all over her. He steadfastly refused to meet her gaze, staunchly facing the dirt road stretching away from the garrison.

Far off in the distance, he could barely make out the sight of someone heading their way. In his moment of distraction talking to Emily he couldn’t tell where the stranger had come from, but he was sure they hadn’t been there a minute ago. There wasn’t much cover out on the parched plains except for the occasional tall shrub or rock.

“Hey, heads up, someone’s coming.” Anton said, suddenly attentive as he observed their impending visitor. Whoever it was, they seemed injured, favouring one leg as they walked with a limping gait. “Huh, looks like his leg’s screwed up or something. Should we –”

“Not just his leg,” Emily growled, her eyes deadset on the man. Anton was instantly set on edge by the smouldering anger of her voice. “His whole body.”

“What?”

“Dead man,” She spat. “Undead.”

“Undead?” Anton gasped, his eyes widening as he tried to get a clearer look. “One of those Forsaken?”

“Could be.” Her lip lifted into a full snarl, a rumbling growl issuing from between her sharp fangs as she glared at the intruder.

Anton turned his eyes back to the undead man who was still steadily approaching them. As he got closer Anton could begin to make out the abhorrence of his unnatural form, his ashen-grey body riddled with half-covered or outright exposed wounds, marbled with dirt. A small cloud of flies seemed to follow the man, taking advantage of his indifference towards them to feed fearlessly.

He only trudged forward, his jaw hanging open and a pale purple glow animating his eyes as he pressed on towards them. Whoever he was, he seemed to have very little care about him. He wore no identifying colours and flew no flag. Could be that he was unaffiliated – but then who the hell was he, and what was he doing out here?

As he neared hailing distance, Anton erred on the side of caution and called out to him. “Hey, you! Undead! State your name and business!”

No answer. The man only stumbled towards them. Emily’s growl grew even louder.

As if they were in sync, Anton drew his sword at the exact moment Emily hefted her hammer up, a clear gesture of warning that the man seemed to pay no attention to whatsoever. A faint scent of rot and decay reached Anton as the undead continued his slow approach, making the gorge rise in the back of his throat.

“Look, stop right there, pal! If you’re Horde, turn around now! If you’re not – Name and business, or this is going to get ugly!”

The dead man didn’t break his wobbly stride, but he did acknowledge them this time – he forced out a foul, gurgling groan, reaching out towards them with his pale hands as he slowly closed the gap. Anton took a reflexive step back despite that the man was still nowhere near, sheer revulsion getting the better of him as the stench of death hit his nose full force.

“Don’t come any closer! Last warning!” Anton shouted at the corpse. Adrenaline was starting to pound through him, tensing him up in anticipation – he didn’t doubt that the dead thing was going to make a fight of it.

Still it gave no answer but for an excited growl as it lurched forward towards its prey. He realized at that moment they weren’t dealing with a man, but a monster. It either couldn’t - or wouldn’t answer them.

As it came within a few metres Anton decided it had crossed the line, and took the initiative with a step up to meet it. It made no effort whatsoever to avoid the horizontal slash he aimed at its head. Instead it reached out hungrily even as the blade made to sweep across its face, its bright violet eyes completely alight with ill intent.

His strike didn’t have quite the impact he wanted – though the corpse was sent staggering and slightly knocked off course, there was little more report than that. There was no spray of blood, no yell of pain – only an annoyed groan and a flow of dark, syrupy ichor dripping from the newly made slice across its face.

Before it could make another attempt at him, Emily gave a furious roar as she stepped in, bringing her hammer down squarely on its skull in a heavy-handed arc. The thing toppled immediately under the blow but she didn’t let up, following her swing all the way through as she smashed its head between the ground and her hammer. The corpse abruptly stopped moving, a dull crack and a pulpy squelch announcing its demise as the hammerhead caved the rotten flesh and bone in.

With one good hit, she’d felled it.

As she drew her befouled weapon back out of its head she sucked in a heavy breath, bellowing a victorious roar down into the flattened corpse’s face. Anton inadvertently flinched away from the sheer volume of the sound smashing against his eardrums.

“That’s one for Gilneas, shitbird!” Emily spat vehemently as she delivered a heavy kick into the corpse’s side, hard enough that it flopped over onto its back. Its eyes were no longer glowing, only possessing a dull glint as it stared emptily up into the sky. “Undead scum!”

For a moment Anton watched the dead man warily, hesitant to take his eyes off it despite its smashed skull. Every now and again in the pub you could hear tales from people who’d been fighting against the Horde about how the undead sometimes refused to stay down, their bodies simply not properly affected by grievous injuries like normal people’s were. Granted this corpse in particular did look pretty deceased, but he couldn’t tell if it was just feigning or not.

“You reckon it’s dead now? Like, proper dead?” Anton asked cautiously.

“Looks like it to me. Got him good and proper,” Emily answered, her voice full of vicious pride as she hefted her hammer up again. She seemed quite pleased with her work. “I’ll give it another one to make right sure if you want me to. I bet I could smash his skull open like a melon.”

“No no, that’s not necessary, thanks,” Anton put one hand up in a quelling gesture. He had no desire whatsoever to see a sight like that. “We’d probably better go get someone.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” She said as she stepped back reluctantly from the corpse. “You want me to do it, then?”

“You are faster, like you said last time.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, alright. I’m not doing it every time, though.”

“Sure, whatever, I’ll do it next time. Can you hurry up, though? The sooner we can get someone to get rid of this thing, the better.” The rancid smell of rot was overpowering in close proximity.

She took off at a brisk pace, leaving Anton to watch the body. He found himself a spot back underneath the arch of the gate, a safe distance away from the smell. With the sudden confrontation now over, he had some time to think about what the hell had just happened.

First, he’d been told to expect possible orc attacks. Then he’d been warned about suddenly getting murdered by arakkoa. And now, of all things, the first trouble at their post had been from a walking corpse.

He honestly had no idea what in hell was going on at this point. Something about Southport clearly had Commander Dawson rattled – she’d been paranoid enough that she’d refused to keep the portal open after she’d ferried the troops through. But then again, it couldn’t be that big a deal if she’d still seen fit to send any soldiers at all, could it? She wouldn’t knowingly walk them into danger.

Or would she? That was part of a Commander’s job, after all, sending the men off to die where it benefited the cause most. Most people would probably sugarcoat it a bit more than that, but that was still the heart of it.

The truly confusing part was that she hadn’t deigned to warn them of whatever the danger was. Instead she’d kept it to herself, only grumbling about it to Captain Montoy when she’d thought he was the only one who would hear. Had she sent them to die? Or had she deemed it an acceptable risk? Was there even anything here she’d been truly concerned about? And if there was, was this undead thing part of it in any way? Did the arakkoa have anything to do with it? Was it the Horde? Or was it the Iron Horde, the orcs they were actually meant to be fighting? Maybe not - it wasn’t an orc’s corpse, it was a human’s.

Perhaps it was a Forsaken, but the longer he thought on it the less likely he deemed that to be. Everything he’d heard of them painted them up as deviously smart – they were thieves and murderers, connivers and strategists. They weren’t dumb brutes as this zombie had been, brainlessly attacking from the front. This undead had more in line with what people said of the Undead Scourge of Lordaeron, the relentless army of mindless corpses that shuffled forward at the behest of their master to slaughter the living.

That would then mean that someone had to have been responsible for creating it. A necromancer of some sort. Corpses couldn’t just pull themselves up out of their graves, after all – or at least, Anton dearly prayed that was true. He shuddered as he looked down at the broken cadaver, taking in its loathsome, sunken appearance with distaste. This was only one undead, and it was vile enough.

His mind ran onward to the logical conclusion that if there’d been one, there would likely be more to follow. Undead like the Scourge simply didn’t come alone. They overwhelmed defenders in a tide of rotten meat and rattling bone. Granted, he couldn’t see any other walking corpses treading up the path at that moment, but they were like rats and roaches; if you saw even one, there had to be more lurking around.

Being honest with himself, he had to admit that thought may be cause enough to bend his morals completely and just flee. The few stories he’d heard about the endless hordes of the Scourge had been bad enough. Being jailed for desertion might be preferable to actually having to live through such a nightmare himself.

But then that brought up the question of whether Emily would follow. He didn’t know if he’d be able to stomach leaving without her, or if he’d be able to convince her to come with him. Now that would be a task – but it might be one that was necessary. He’d have to have a talk with her about it.

“The dark one will have you.” The corpse’s sudden guttural intonation interrupted Anton’s thoughts.

“Whuh?” He didn’t have a more measured response to give, taken by surprise as he gaped open-mouthed at what he’d thought was a dead man. Its eyes were alight again, the unnatural glow somewhat dulled but still very visibly alive.

“The master has already won. Your dying day comes.”

“The hell? Aren’t you dead?” Anton asked, taking a shocked step back. “Your head’s half caved in!”

“The master will have you.” It slurred heavily, seeming to lose energy even as it struggled to pick itself up. “The master... will have... you...”

“What’s that shit supposed to mean? Is that a threat?” He pointed his sword down warningly at the corpse as it feebly tried again to haul itself up off the ground.

“Kill... for the... dark one...”

He heard the word ‘kill’, and he decided against wasting any more words. He had an easy chance to get rid of it, and he had all the justification he needed.

He set his face and strode heavily towards it, ignoring the rank stench as he flipped his weapon around in his hands to take a reverse grip. With all the force he could muster he plunged the sword down into its skull, a grunt of effort escaping him as he forced the blade to push through the bone.

The monster’s struggles became erratic for a moment, still trying to wheeze its wicked words out as it succumbed. Anton drew his weapon back out, now slick with gore, and the thing flopped lifelessly to the ground.

This time he decided to take no chances. There was something he could do to make sure this dead man never walked again.

He righted his sword grip again and lifted it up behind his head as he stood above the corpse. Like an executioner’s axe, he brought the weapon down squarely onto its neck, slicing straight through and utterly severing its head from its trunk. The zombie collapsed completely, falling into the dirt with a soft thump. Its dark, glutinous blood slowly started to seep out onto the earth in weak, nauseating spurts.

Anton couldn’t keep his face from crinkling up. Now assured that the undead was no longer a threat, he stood well back again, his eyes peeled for any further danger as he waited for Emily’s return.

* * *

* * *

The moment their shift ended and their replacements arrived, Anton and Emily set a brisk pace back towards the barracks. They were both keen on getting out of their armour after the tense turn their shift had taken.

Anton was infinitely grateful that there hadn’t been any more excitement. A labourer had bundled the body up into a wagon, very clearly having to restrain himself from vomiting the whole time, and taken it down the path out towards the garrison’s graveyard. They’d been on high alert the whole time after, their eyes keen on the horizon so as to not be caught unawares by any further trouble, but they had ended up with nothing more bothersome than simple foot traffic passing through the gate.

Emily bore a troubled expression on her face as she walked alongside him. He could only imagine what thoughts were running through her head – he had avoided bringing up how the corpse had spoken in her absence, hesitant to open that can of worms while they were on duty.

As they neared their destination, he realized he had little time left if he wanted to bring it up. They wouldn’t be able to say a word inside the cramped quarters of the barracks for fear of being overheard, and the last thing he wanted was to panic people who simply didn’t need to hear it. He pulled her aside, gesturing towards a bench on the edge of the cobblestone path.

“What’s up?” She asked.

“Let’s sit down for a sec before we go in,” Anton muttered. “I have to tell you something.”

A dubious look befell her face, but she followed along anyway. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“That undead guy, he got back up after you left...”

“What?”

“...And he talked, I shit you not.” Anton said with a serious frown. “He said some bunk about how there was this ‘master’ he was working for, and he was going to kill us all.”

Emily’s eyes widened in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Anton confirmed. “I think we might be in some actual deep shit here. Deeper than we realized.”

She slowly leaned back, brows crossing as she considered. “Anyone else saying that, I’d think was trying to screw me around. It sounds stupid. I thought I pulped that thing’s head when I hit it...”

“Well, you didn’t pulp it hard enough,” Anton shrugged helplessly. “I’m serious here. It got up and –”

“I believe you,” Emily interrupted, her face grave. “Don’t worry, I believe you. It’s just... That’s real serious stuff. It sounds like it must have been talking about a necromancer. And that means there has to be one here, hiding in the garrison. Or more than one...”

“I thought the same,” Anton shivered. “I knew something like this was going to happen. I had a bad feeling about this place right from the off.”

Anton knew very little of magic in general, and even less of necromancy in particular. What he did know, however, was that it was a foul enough kind of magic that no mage in Stormwind or Dalaran would tolerate anyone practicing it, let alone even studying it. Necromancy twisted the innocent into flesh-eating monsters, damning them to suffer forever even after their bodies had rotted and fallen apart. Necromancy had obliterated the kingdom of Lordaeron, had inflicted the Forsaken on the world, had threatened to outright overwhelm all of Azeroth with a tide of death. Even those few death knights who had pledged themselves to the Alliance flag had nothing good to say about the practice. They suffered from it as much as any of its other victims, if not more. These were the things Anton knew of necromancy.

And now it seemed like he was fated to have a first-hand experience with it himself. The odds weren’t good that he’d escape it unscathed, given the sheer misery the craft wrought.

The grim implications of that possibility followed in its wake and opened up darker avenues of thought. The worst a fair enemy could do to him was kill him. A necromancer would do that and more, though – they’d kill him, resurrect him as a mindless zombie and set him against the people he was supposed to protect, and if that didn’t claim his life, he’d linger forever as a slavering, rotting undead monster.

He couldn’t help but shudder at the gruesome imagery in his head. Emily seemed to take notice, leaning forward and snapping her long-clawed fingers in front of his face. “Anton, calm down. One thing at a time, alright? First thing we got to do is tell the captain.”

“Tell the – You don’t mean Captain Branson?” He asked disbelievingly. “What’s the good of that? He’ll probably just scream at us and tell us to get lost.”

“He’s still our commanding officer. He has to be the first guy we take it to.” She threw her long arms out helplessly.

“Well, yeah, but the thing is, he’s also a massive asshole.” Anton explained frankly.

“Not going to say he’s not,” Emily stood up slowly with a resigned sigh, offering an arm to help him up. “Come on. He’s still the captain.”

Anton made to join her, but what he saw emerging from the barracks door sent him reeling back just as fast. Arcanist Ephial was stepping over the threshold, mumbling something distractedly to the guard on duty at the door. Anton couldn’t properly hear what was being said, but he could plainly tell the guard was rolling his eyes.

He grabbed Emily’s wrist but instead of letting her pull him up, he urged her back down onto the bench with a hiss. “Hold up, not yet,”

“What?”

“Look,” He gestured towards Ephial.

A second passed as Emily followed his gaze, then she allowed herself to be pulled back down willingly.

They watched as Ephial ambled slowly away, still conversing animatedly with the guard who was growing increasingly frustrated. Just as it looked like the guard was about to snap and start choking him, the wizard finally gave a hearty wave goodbye and strode off down the path northward.

“Okay, now we can go,” Anton stood up, sighing in relief. “We’re well out of that. Having to listen to that guy ramble on would have been the last thing I needed today.”

As they neared the barracks door, Anton sent the unfortunate guard a sympathetic look. The man gave them no response except for a despairing shake of his head, silent exasperation etched on his features as he ushered them indoors.

Inside the barracks, Captain Branson’s office was found easily enough – upstairs, in exactly the same place as Captain Montoy’s office, in fact. Anton had to wonder if they’d just re-used the exact same schematic for both buildings.

The captain’s gruff voice responded almost immediately to Anton’s knock on the door. “Enter.”

Emily followed him inside, and they found Branson writing away furiously at something on his desk. He spared them the briefest of glances, just long enough to see who they were, before returning his eyes to his work.

“Speak.” He commanded simply, only deigning to address them with a single word.

Anton had to confess himself a little disarmed. Even sitting behind a desk, the man commanded a brutal presence. Physically, he wouldn’t be able to match the aura of intimidation that Emily could impose, but he nonetheless had something about him that set Anton on the backfoot.

“Sir. We – We were attacked at our post during our shift today. An –”

“Did you include it in your shift report?” Branson cut him short.

One sentence in and Anton already didn’t like where this conversation was going. He cast a nervous eye over towards Emily before he answered. “Well, we haven’t written our reports yet,”

“So you decided that instead of doing that, you’d come and waste my time directly.” The captain finally stopped his writing, glaring up at them testily.

“N-No, sir, it’s just – We thought this was important enough to bring straight to you. We were –”

“If I’m going to hear it, I might as well have read it, that’s the whole point of the damn reports in the first place.” He snapped. “They’re there so you don’t piss me off telling me something I’m going to read anyway,”

“It was undead, sir.” Emily backed him up, drawing the captain’s attention with a curt salute. “Not Forsaken, either. Mindless. Like a zombie, sir. Like the Scourge.”

For a moment Branson’s brows furrowed. Anton cringed in anticipation of what he might say next, but to his surprise he only gestured silently for her to go on.

“We were worried as to where it came from, sir. I mean, if there’s undead in the area, obviously there’s -”

“’Where it came from’, are you serious? Did you forget the whole Iron Horde? The massive army of orcs? They’ve got necromancers among them, any one of them would probably happily say they did it!” His voice suddenly raised in volume until he was just barely short of shouting at them. “One zombie? You could have put that in your paperwork like everyone else in this barracks does, and not shaved precious minutes out of my day if you had half a brain between you!”

“Well – We just – We weren’t –” Anton fumbled as he desperately tried to cover. “We weren’t briefed about any undead, or –”

Branson slammed his hand against the desk abruptly, sending them both stepping back slightly from his sudden anger. “Put it in your report, get your asses out of my office, and don’t get them back in here unless you’ve got a damn good reason to. And I mean a damn good reason! You’re both here wasting my time, shitting your pants because of one single attack!”

They didn’t need any further encouragement to vacate the room, both of them bailing out in record time. Anton slammed the door shut behind them as though that might keep the captain’s explosive rage contained inside.

They shared a shellshocked glance at each other as they slowly started to make their way back downstairs.

“Well, I did say that was what he’d do,” Anton muttered under his breath. “How exactly did a shitbag like him make captain? That’s what I want to know.”

“Got me tossed,” Emily growled, a hint of a snarl on her face as she looked back over her shoulder. “He probably knows someone, I guess. That, or he just plays kiss-up real good and hides it.”

“Sounds about right.” He heaved a sigh. “Okay. What now, then?”

Her face fell into a frustrated frown. “I don’t know off the top of my head. I guess we’ll have to think on it. Figure something out tomorrow, maybe.”

“Good idea.” Anton sighed, looking back towards the captain’s office. “We should probably get our report done, then. What do you reckon the odds are of him doing anything about it after he reads it?”

Emily snorted. “Somewhere about none to none. But, oh well... We’ll just have to figure something out in the morning.”

“Alright.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs and shared a short glance as they started to separate.

“G’night, Emily.” He said softly.

“Night.” She answered back, just as gently.

One brief moment of tenderness, but it was enough to dull the edges off a rough day. He could content himself with that.


End file.
